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It was a bright pleasant day and Paul Yale, spry in walking as in much else, stepped out briskly. After the flow of talk before and during lunch, both fell silent.
Nim's thoughts returned, as they had so often lately, to Ruth. A week and a half had passed since the soul-searing night when he learned that Ruth's life was endangered by cancerous cells at large in her body. Apart from a talk with Dr. Levin, Nim had kept the knowledge to himself. There seemed no point in turning Ruth-as he had seen happen with other families-into an object of gossip and speculation.
Dr. Levin's attitude had been neither defeatist nor reassuring. "Your wife may have many years of normal life," be had said. "But you must also know that her condition could deteriorate suddenly and rapidly.
“Treatment, though-whether it's chemotherapy or immunotherapy will tilt the odds in her favor."
As to possible additional therapy, Ruth was to make another trip to New York soon; it would be decided then if the newer, in-part-experimental method at the Sloan-Kettering Institute was likely to help her. For Nim, as well as Ruth, the waiting was like living on the loose ledge of a precipice, wondering if it would collapse or hold.
“The only advice I can give," Dr. Levin had added, "is what I've told your wife already: Live one day at a time, and use it to the full. Don't let her put things off that she wants to do, and can. Come to think of it, that's good counsel for us all. Remember that you or I could drop dead from a heart attack or be killed in a traffic accident tomorrow, with your wife suryiving us by many years."
The doctor had sighed. "I'm sorry, Nim; maybe that sounds like a load of bull. I know you want something definite. Everybody does. But the advice I've given you is the best I have."
Nim had taken Dr. Levin's advice by spending as much time with Ruth as possible. Today, for example, he could have stayed on overnight in Fresno; there were local developments about which he might usefully inform himself.
Instead, he had arranged to take an afternoon flight back, and would be home for dinner.
His thoughts were jerked into the present by Mr. Justice Yale, who observed, “There seems to be an extraordinary number of people around for this time of day."
Nim had been preoccupied; now he looked about him. "You're right. There are."
The streets within immediate view contained large numbers of pedestrians, all apparently heading in the same direction-toward the State Building. Some were hurrying, as if anxious to get ahead of others. Cars, too, were streaming in and a traffic jam was developing. among occupants of the cars and those on foot, women and teen-agers seemed to predominate.
"Perhaps," Nim said, "word got around that you were coming here."
The old man chuckled. "Even if it did, I don't have the charisma to pull a crowd this size."
They reached the grassy mall which fronted on the State Building. It was packed with people.
"If you want to find something out, a good way is to ask," Yale said. He touched the arm of a middle-aged man in workman's clothes. "Excuse me. We are curious to know why so many people are here."
The other looked at him incredulously. "You ain't heard?"
Yale smiled. "It's why I asked."
"It's Cameron Clarke. He's coming here."
“The movie actor?"
"Who, else? Gonna speak his piece at some gumment hearing. Bin on radio all morning. On TV too, so my old lady says."
Nim asked, "What government hearing?"
"How should I know? Who cares? just wanna get a look at him, is all."
Paul Yale and Nim exchanged glances as the same thought occurred to them.
"We'll know soon enough," Yale said.
They began easing their way closer to the State Building, a functional, uninteresting edifice with steps in front. At the same time a black limousine with a police motorcycle escort approached from the opposite direction. A cry went up, and was repeated, “There he is!" the crowd surged forward.
More policemen appeared. They cleared a way for the limousine to reach the sidewalk near the steps. As the car stopped, a uniformed chauffeur jumped out and opened the rear door. A short, slight young man emerged. He had a shock of blond hair and was wearing a lightweight tan suit. The crowd cheered.
"Cameron! Hi there, Cameron!" Someone began the cry and others took it up.
Like royalty, Cameron Clarke waved in response.
He was Hollywood's current gold-plated box office guarantee. His handsome, boyish, amiable face was known to fifty million worshiping fans from Cleveland to Calcutta, from Seattle to Sierra Leone, from Brooklyn to Baghdad. Even august justices of the U. S. Supreme Court had heard of Cameron Clarke, as Paul Sherman Yale had demonstrated moments earlier. The mere presence of Clarke anywhere was sufficient to set off a near-riot of adulation. The Fresno police, undoubtedly aware of this, were doing their best to control the crowd now.
Press photographers, who had begun shooting as the limousine stopped, were continuing as if film were inexhaustible. A TV crew, which had been waiting, moved in closer to the movie star.
An interview ensued.
Interviewer (with great respect): Mr. Clarke, why are you here?
Cameron Clarke: I am here, as an ordinary humble citizen, to protest an ill-conceived, sordid and totally unneeded scheme which would desecrate the magnificent, unspoiled area of California known as Tunipah.
Interviewer Sir, those are strong words. Would you explain why you feel that way?
Cameron Clarke.: Certainly. The Tunipah plan is ill-conceived because it is anti-en-vironment. It is sordid because the objective is to make profits for Golden State Power & Light, which doesn't need them. It is unnecessary because another source of power is available; furthermore, conservation could reduce power needs by more than Tunipah would generate.
Nim and Paul Yale were within hearing. "He's reciting lines," Nim 2muttered angrily. "I wonder what uninformed idiot wrote them for him."
Interviewer: What is that other source of power, Mr. Clarke?
Cameron Clarke.: Solar energy.
Interviewer: You believe that solar could be available now?
Cameron Clarke.: Absolutely. However, there is no hurry, even for solar. The talk we hear of electrical shortage is just a scare tactic-propaganda put out by the power companies.
A spectator shouted, "Attaboy, Cameron! That's telling the bastards! Stick it to 'em!"
The actor looked up, waved an acknowledgment, and smiled.
Nim told his companion, "I think I've heard enough. If you don't mind, Mr. Yale, I'll start back north and leave you to the hearing. It looks as if it will be quite a production."
"I know who'll be the star, and it isn't me," Yale said ruefully. "All right, Nim; you go. Thanks for all your help."
As Nim elbowed his way outward through the crowd, Yale beckoned a policeman and identified himself. A moment later, unnoticed, he was escorted into the State Building.
The TV interview with Cameron Clarke was continuing.
* * *
"Actually," Oscar O'Brien said next day, "when you get Cameron Clarke by himself, you find out he's a pretty decent guy. I talked to him; I also know a couple of his friends. He has a solid marriage and three kids he's crazy about. The trouble is though, whenever he opens his mouth in public, what he says gets treated as if it came from Mount Olympus."
The general counsel, who had appeared at the Fresno hearing, was reporting-at an inquest session-to J. Eric Humphrey, Teresa Van Buren, and Nim.
"As it turned out," O'Brien said, "the main reason Clarke is opposed to Tunipah is that he owns property near there-a hideaway place he and his family use in summers. They keep horses, ride the trails, fish, sometimes camp out overnight. He's afraid our Tunipah development would spoil all that, and he's probably right."
Eric Humphrey asked, "Was the point not made that the welfare of millions of Californians outweighs the holiday privileges of one individual?"
"It was made all right," O'Brien said. "Christ knows, I tried on cross-examination. But do you think anyone cared? No! Cameron Clarke objected to Tunipah and the god of the silver screen had spoken. That was all that mattered."
The lawyer stopped, remembering, then said, "When Clarke spoke 2his piece at the hearing about despoiling nature-and, by God, I have to admit he was good, it was like Marc Antony orating over Caesar's corpse-there were people, among those crowded in, who were crying. I mean it-crying!"
